


you still got me (to hold you up)

by sheerpoetry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post Season 3, accidental suicide attempt, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 13:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheerpoetry/pseuds/sheerpoetry
Summary: After the nogitsune, Stiles just wants tosleep. He wakes up in the shower with Derek.(Warning/explanation at the end!)





	you still got me (to hold you up)

Thick fingers push into his mouth, down his throat. He gags, spills the contents of his stomach in the...shower? _What the fuck_?

His white-knuckled grip on the side of the tub loosens and he collapses back into an increasingly familiar, impossibly warm body. He sighs, because _of course_. Strong arms pull him closer, protecting on instinct, he thinks. 

"What the fuck, Stiles?" Derek's voice is strained--accusing and angry and _worried_. 

_That's my line_. Stiles tries to speak, coughs, gags again. Derek pushes him forward, one arm around his middle, the other rubbing up his back. Their legs are tangled together in the bottom of the tub and Stiles fleetingly thinks this would be strangely intimate, if not for the cold spray of the shower beating down on them and the taste of vomit in his mouth. 

Derek seems to be waiting for something--an answer, maybe. He must realize he won't be getting one--or that Stiles isn't really capable of giving it--and reaches around Stiles to turn off the faucet, solid muscle pressing against the length of his back. Stiles shivers at the contact, at the heat from Derek's body and the chill from their dripping clothes. Derek hauls Stiles up and Stiles slaps at his hands ineffectually, earning himself a seat on the side of the tub.

Derek shoves a towel in his face and stalks out of the bathroom. Stiles pats at his hair and face weakly, not doing much to actually dry anything. Derek comes back with clothes in hand--his own, Stiles realizes as he squints at the shirt. Derek sighs and drops the clothes on the closed toilet. He takes the towel from Stiles and begins carefully drying his hair.

Stiles reaches up and tangles his fingers in the hem of Derek's shirt. "You're wet," he manages in an awed whisper. He clears his throat; it feels like he hasn't spoken in days. 

Derek sighs again and Stiles thinks this is a new level of non-verbal weirdness. The towel swipes down one arm, then the other, Derek gripping each wrist gently. Stiles shivers at the touch, the heat of Derek's skin on his own. Derek must think he's hypothermic because he drapes the towel around Stiles's shoulders like a cape. 

Derek points to the pile of clothes. "Get dressed." 

Normally, Stiles would be ready with a pithy reply--something about him already being dressed and the dripping being Derek's fault--but all he can do is nod. Derek gives Stiles one of his trademark looks and walks out, dripping as he goes. Stiles sits for a minute, trying to figure out what he'd gotten himself into this time.

His wet clothes hit the tile floor with a plop and the sound is jarring in the quiet room. He's sure he can hear the fluorescent light over the sink buzzing as he pulls on the clothes Derek brought, thankful for the long sleeves and fleece pajama pants. He drops the towel in the hamper. He brushes his teeth because _gross_. When he crosses the hall to his room, he finds Derek standing by the door and trying not to drip on anything.

Stiles steps around Derek to collapse on his bed. He motions around his room vaguely. "Borrow some clothes." He's relieved his voice his back, steady. 

He rubs his eyes and tries not to think of Derek in his clothes...or changing into them. He must doze off because suddenly, Derek's sitting on the bed next to him, thankfully mostly dry. He really wishes Derek would stop shaking him, though. He doesn't particularly want to throw up again, especially not on Derek.

"Jesus, stop. _Please_." Derek stops insistently jostling Stiles, but his hand remains on Stiles's shoulder. His eyes drop closed again. "Not that I haven't taken plenty of cold showers because of you before, but what the fuck?" 

_Shit_. He really needed to work on his brain-to-mouth filter. Or develop one. Stiles doesn't risk opening his eyes to check Derek's reaction, though he doesn't miss the way Derek's hand clenches on his shoulder. 

"Stiles, you...you weren't breathing." Derek's voice is foreign, tense. Stiles opens his eyes because _what_? Derek's holding an empty pill bottle in his other hand, idly rolling it between his fingers. Derek's hand tightens on Stiles's shoulder again, but when Stiles looks up, Derek's eyes are on the bottle. "Why? Why would you...?"

There seemed to be a question abandoned there, like Derek couldn't bring himself to say whatever it was he was thinking. Now Stiles is even more confused. What had he done? What did Derek _think_ he'd done? 

"What? Derek, I don't--"

Derek drops the bottle, both hands coming to grip Stiles's shoulders with more force than he really thought necessary. "You weren't _breathing_ , Stiles!" 

Stiles sits up quickly and regrets it as it his head swims a little. But this isn't a conversation he can have lying down. This isn't a conversation he can have _at all_ , he thinks. He manages to get his back against the headboard and Derek's hands fall to rest on his wrists, but he still doesn't let go. 

"Derek, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, that's not...that's not something I'd do, okay?" Stiles is really taking a stab in the dark here. Because that can't be what Derek thinks happened here. That can't be what Derek thinks of _him_. Then Stiles wonders why he thinks Derek would be thinking of him at all.

Derek looks pointedly at the discarded pill bottle. "How many did you take?" It's closer to a demand than an actual question. Derek should really learn to ask nicely.

Stiles looks at the ceiling and thinks, tries to remember. He manages to extricate a hand from Derek's grip to run through his hair. "I...I don't actually know," he admits quietly. 

" _Stiles_." It's less his name and more growl. Stiles doesn't look over to see if Derek's eyes flash. 

"I just...I just wanted to _sleep_. With--" Stiles gestures with his free hand. "--everything, it feels like it's been _months_ and I'm _exhausted_ and I thought...I thought I was losing my mind." 

His voice is quiet as he finishes. He takes a deep breath, trying to stave off the panic he feels rising in his chest at the thought--the thought of ending up like his mother, of slowly losing himself bit by bit, of forgetting the people he loves. His mind helpfully supplies glimpses of the past few weeks, the things that haunt his nightmares. Stiles can feel his chest constricting and his breathing quicken. He can hear his heartbeat so loudly that it must be deafening to Derek.

" _Breathe_ , Stiles." Derek takes Stiles's hand and places it flat on his own chest, makes a point of breathing deeply and evenly. He rests his other hand over Stiles's heart. Stiles knows Derek can hear his heartbeat, but Stiles thinks Derek must need the extra reassurance. Once his breathing returns to normal, Derek releases his hand, but doesn't move his own from Stiles's chest.

"I thought they were nightmares." Stiles is staring at his own hand in his lap, resolutely ignoring the one still tangled with Derek's. "I _remember_ , Derek. The things I--it--did."

"It's not your fault, Stiles." Derek's grasped Stiles's hand between both of his own, his thumb sweeping back and forth across his wrist.

Stiles laughs bitterly and sounds like _it_ , even to his ears. "Isn't it, though?" 

"Stiles--" 

Stiles cuts Derek off, raising his hand. "All of you are...and then there's me. And I don't _fit_. I never fit anywhere. It _chose_ me, Derek. Me. Because it knew. It knew I wasn't like you, that I don't have..." _Anything_. He doesn't say it, but Derek has to know. He reaches up to trace his fingers over Derek's jaw, brush over the kanji behind his ear before resting his hand on Derek's shoulder. 

"Stiles." Derek's voice is quiet, soft, like he's trying to soothe a frightened animal. Stiles refuses to meet his eyes, until Derek squeezes his hand, smiling softly. When Stiles finally looks up, he realizes how _close_ Derek is and when did that happen? Derek reaches up and swipes his thumb over Stiles's bottom lip, large hand cupping his jaw carefully. He leans in and kisses Stiles, a quick, firm press of lips. "You fit."

Stiles is pretty sure his heart's going to _explode_ because _of course_ he'd thought about Derek and what that would be like, but he'd never imagined it would even remotely be a possibility or that it'd actually happen. It said a lot about his life that it happened now.

Stiles wraps himself around Derek, climbing into his lap. He's actually literally crying on Derek's shoulder, but he refuses to be embarrassed about it in that moment. Derek rubs his back soothingly and kisses the top of Stiles's head. Derek squeezes him and did he just get hugged by _Derek Hale_? 

"I like the way you fit with me." Derek's voice is low and right by his ear and Stiles is absolutely not responsible for the shudder that runs through him.

Stiles hiccups a laugh into Derek's shoulder. "Oh my _god_. I think that's the cheesiest thing I've ever heard. And I'm friends with _Scott_." 

"It's true." Derek shrugs, jostling Stiles in the process. Stiles takes the opportunity to sit up and wipe his eyes and nose on his own sleeve. Derek wipes a stray tear from Stiles's cheek before threading their fingers together. He lifts their hands so Stiles can see them. "We fit." He brings Stiles's hand to his mouth and lightly kisses the back of it.

Stiles's eyes widen. " _Oh my god_." Derek laughs, probably at the rapid rate of Stiles's heartbeat. Stiles drops his head to Derek's shoulder again. "Not that I'm not enjoying this sudden development, but can we--" Stiles interrupts himself with a yawn and squeezes Derek’s hand. "--talk about this tomorrow? You're comfortable and I'm sleepy." 

"You should be at the _hospital_." Stiles is sure Derek is glaring; he can feel it. Literally. It makes his skin itch. In the _best possible way_. 

Stiles waves a hand dismissively. "You always say that. I'm fine." 

Derek squeezes Stiles tightly, edging on painful. "You almost _weren't_."

"I...don't know what else to say, Derek." Stiles begins to disentangle himself from Derek and lies down on the bed, scooting toward the wall.

Derek runs a hand through his hair. "You really shouldn't sleep--"

"Derek." Stiles rolls to his side and gives Derek his best glare. "I haven't had a full or decent night of sleep in _months_.” He tugs Derek down next to him. Derek resists for all of a minute before letting himself be pulled horizontal. “Dad’s working. We're safe.”

Derek nods and settles into the bed. "I'm sorry."

“It’s not like you’d leave anyway.” Stiles is used to Derek standing guard when he’s injured and—“O _h my god_.” Stiles sits up in the bed and slaps Derek on the chest. “You _like me_.” 

Derek sighs and inches closer to Stiles, curling an arm around his legs. “I thought we covered that.” 

“No—well, _yes_ , but. _Before_. When I’d get hurt. You’d camp out here.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles.

“Well, not _here_ here, obviously.” Stiles flails his hands a little. “But—“

“Stiles.” Stiles stops moving, lets Derek catch his hands and pull him back down on the bed. “Go to sleep."

Stiles squirms until he's pressed against Derek. His head is pillowed on Derek’s chest and one arm is wrapped around Derek’s ribcage. Derek is holding him close, an arm around his shoulders still rubbing his back slowly. Stiles seeks out Derek's hand on the bed and links their fingers together. 

Derek's voice is low and careful in the quiet. "It wasn't sudden." 

"We are _so_ talking about this tomorrow." Stiles squeezes Derek's hand one more time before settling in. 

Stiles sleeps. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I totally know how it feels to buy the entire aisle of sleep aids because you're truly _that tired_. 
> 
> This story works under the belief that they prescribed Stiles sleeping pills after that ER visit. Adrenaline and exhaustion had him lose count of how many he'd taken and Derek found him unconscious. So this isn't _really_ a suicide attempt.
> 
> (The shower thing was taken from the first season of American Horror Story. I have no idea if that actually works for an overdose, so please always seek actual emergency care.)


End file.
